


Growing Wings

by Goombella123



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Coming of Age, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, author really likes Drakengard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goombella123/pseuds/Goombella123
Summary: Junior Skater Yuuri Katsuki has a difficult career choice to make, and with Yuuri being... well, *Yuuri* about it, it's only a matter of time before it catches up to him.(also includes: teenage Yuuri skating to video game music.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I don't normally do beginning notes, but this is a special case. 
> 
> This fic very much involves Yuuri's anxiety (as it says on the tin), so skip to the end note if you want specific trigger warnings and stuff. As a general rule I'd like to say that if you yourself are in an unhealthy place, you may want to come into this prepared.
> 
> Secondly, and this is slightly less important: Drakengard is known as Drag-on Dragoon in Japan, is notorious for having gameplay so bad it's distressing, and also if you plan on listening to the song I used in this fic the version I'm referencing is [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6s3ctffSCc) . I'm pretending it came out five years earlier than it did.
> 
> Lastly, some reassurance. Yuuri will always get a happy ending, because I love him too much for anything else.
> 
> Please enjoy <3

 

Yuuri Katsuki could do a quad-toe on his own. That twisting turn executed like a fever dream, he learnt it just by watching, and feeling it in his bones. When it comes to skating, that stuff is kind of his _thing;_ self-sufficiency. Learning by osmosis, fervent study and a deep, gut-deep determination to _win_. People like him always have something to prove.

 

But there can be no misunderstanding here- despite everything, Yuuri Katsuki would never call himself good things.

 

He’s twenty-three, owns a Legend of Zelda figurine, and had cried, once, in the middle of an argument with his teacher. At night, he lies awake and listens for the weatherman as he tells him what he already knows- that there’ll be a shower in the morning with a chance of sun. Slight, but Yuuri never believes him.

 

And then he sits by the window and listens hard for the rain, just to prove himself right.

 

You see, Yuuri _used_ to be able to do a quad-toe on his own. Until he was sixteen. When he was sixteen, he’d fell, and broken his wrist, and was henceforth incapable of ever doing it again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

\--- 5 weeks until the Short Program ---

 It’s easy to say that things that happen for a reason. But at age eighteen Yuuri cannot, for the absolute life of him, fathom how god or the universe or the great spirits of his ancestors decided there was a reason for him to be _nocturnal._

 

He’s rested a total of three hours in five days, and has told a grand total of _no_ - _one_ about it.

 

Partially, it’s because many of those missing hours have been spent at Minako’s studio- with permission!-  and Yuuri doesn’t want either his teacher or his mother knowing how much he works. Because if they did, they’d make him stop.

 

If they already know, at least Minako is gracious enough not to bring it up.

Yuuri’s always respected her as his teacher- not because of, but somewhat thanks to, how she allows him her free time occasionally to work through his choreography worries. Tonight is an example. She stands crossed-arms at the back of the room, commanding him to be less stiff, less pale, less ‘looking like a man who hasn’t slept in years’.

 

That’s just an exaggeration, of course. Yuuri has  never been a good sleeper- it’s just that this past week has been especially horrendous.

 

Minako puts it down to nerves.

 

“When I was your age,” she says. “I threw up _twice_ before my first major audition. That sort of thing is normal.”

 

Yuuri tries for a smile, though it comes out tight. Like his neck muscles and his poor, abused hamstrings.

 

His own major event is coming up soon. It’s the reason why his bad habits are flaring up again. Not only will this coming Junior Worlds be Yuuri’s last- just in the junior division, he hopes- it’s in the Netherlands this year, which means he’ll have to fly over a whole week earlier in order to adjust his internal clock.

 

Just like everyone else, he has a long plane ride to look forward to, and a whole lot more lost sleep.

 

 “Chin up during that _pirouette_ , Yuuri!”

 

He grimaces, beginning to feel the burn in his feet.

Yuuri _hates_ leaving home, let alone Japan. He _hates_ flying on planes, and he most certainly hates competing at an international level in figure skating, in the sense that he doesn’t _really_ hate it, but he really, _really_ hates how stressed it makes him.  

 

Noticing his paleness and stiffness had grown, Minako suddenly whistles Yuuri to a stop.

 

“You alright?” she asks, squinting at his drawn-out face. “I know you haven’t got school in the morning anymore, but…”

 

Yuuri shakes his head, despite sleep sounding like a _great_ idea right now. “No, it’s alright!” he says. “I’m good to go!”

 

Minako-sensei, unfortunately, isn’t an idiot.

 

“One more run through and I’m packing it up.” she frowns. Her hands on her hips- “We’ve got a long three weeks in the Netherlands together, remember?”

 

“I know.”

 

Oh, Yuuri knows.

 

 

 He arrives home just as the sun comes up, at 4am exactly. Yuuri considers this the unluckiest hour to be awake, because it’s the hour of the dead. Or perhaps it’s the most fitting hour for him to be awake. He isn’t sure. He slips into his bedroom quietly, taking off his sneakers and his pants, but nothing else.

 

He dives under his bed, the covers enveloping him in a warm, welcoming hug. Yuuri closes his eyes, savoring it for as long as he can.

 

He won’t be going to sleep tonight. Despite how Minako had phrased it like being awake was a choice. Yuuri settles down best he can anyway, his sore muscles stretching and joints popping like an old man. He closes his eyes and lets his gaze flicker beneath his lids, managing a facsimile of sleep at the _least_.

 

He can even pretend he’s dreaming, even if he has to make up the stories himself.

 

Like a path with forked branches, though, he always ends up coming back to the same thing- the ice. Viktor Nikiforov, who qualified for the next Olympics. Skating, Viktor Nikiforov _, skating with Viktor Nikiforov..._

 

For his own amusement, Yuuri goes on to re-imagine Viktor’s senior debut, from when his hair was long and his neck was skinnier than Yuuri’s arms. He remembers his costume from that year, styled after an angel of god. Brilliant but tacky, if you asked Yuuri. Not that Yuuri was a stylist.

 

When Viktor had begun to skate, though…

 

There’s a reason Yuuri idolizes him, and it’s not just because Viktor is pretty. It’s because somehow, Viktor Nikiforov has learnt how to fly- and Yuuri knows he wants to, too. Almost desperately so.

 

The only problem is that he can’t work out _how_.

 

When Viktor had flown to the top of international figure skating, the media kept on asking how he’d done it. As a reply, Viktor had smiled and said- _‘It’s what I deserve, isn’t it?’_. And Yuuri remembers that quote exactly, down to the intonation and the twitch at the corner of Viktor’s mouth because he couldn’t _believe_ that someone could think like that. Viktor’s sly, self-assured tongue is one-hundred-percent certain that it’s made of diamonds.

 

He _deserves_ it, he’d said.

 

Yuuri doesn’t understand.

 

 

 

 

 

\--- 20 days until the Short Program ---

  He hugs his family as he leaves, but Yuuri knows that it’s impossible to hug the whole of Hasetsu. He sorely wishes he could, though- it’d make saying goodbye to his family much easier, when his hometown is as much a part of it as his sister, his parents and his poodle Vicchan.

 

Hasetsu is a whole hour away by now, so the runways of Fukuoka International Airport are there to miss Yuuri instead. The captain garbles over the cabin radio, and the wings make this horrific _whirr-_ ing noise as the flight attendants quietly pretend it isn’t happening and do a safety demo.

 

Yuuri pulls his beanie down his face and ignores it, too. He prays that by the time he’s thirty, humans will have worked out how to teleport.

 

 

 They arrive in the Netherlands a grueling 11 hours and 15 minutes later, with a stop-off in between where Yuuri had tried and failed to un-pop his ears. He was stricken, and Minako was doing her best to assure him that he _wasn’t_ going to go deaf unless his ears started bleeding, to which Yuuri’s response was ‘ _they can do that?!_ ’.

 

That little outburst had caused alcohol to get involved on his teacher’s end.

 

Fortunately, drunk-Minako had slept peacefully for the entire duration of the second flight, and Yuuri had started Pokémon Platinum while she dozed. He’d accidentally released his Piplup before he hit the first gym, though, and Yuuri had made a mental note; he needs to stop naming things he likes after Viktor, because there’s no excuse in the _world_ that will save him from crying over a lost Pokémon in public.

 

They eventually make out it safely to Amsterdam airport, sans one Viktor the Piplup.

 

A text from a number Yuuri doesn’t remember the owner of greets him upon arrival, to his disappointment. Someone _else_ was supposed to be greeting him, but there’s no accounting for them right now.

  
(…that makes it sound exciting, though. Really, it’s just Yuuri’s coach.)

 

She’d agreed to a quick rendezvous before Yuuri and Minako collapsed for two days, but a half-hour later, she’s still nowhere to be seen amongst the tidy crowd. Mrs Naomi Toyo- the fourth coach Yuuri’s had since he’d started skating- had decided to fly over to Amsterdam a few days earlier for... whatever reason, but had promised it’d be ‘business as usual’ once it came competition-time.

 

And while it isn’t technically competition time _now_ , Yuuri had still hoped she’d stick to her promise.

 

Her promise of _actually meeting them on time_.

 

Minako groans besides him. The airport is noisy and artificially warm- it makes Yuuri want to sweat through all his clothes, and he already has to deal with the stench of other passengers and Minako’s incriminating breath for god-knows how much longer. To top it all off, he’s getting cranky-hungry. Or hangry. As they call it.

 

The smell of coffee and croissants _taunts_ him from the five separate cafes in his immediate vicinity.

 

If Yuuri imagines it hard enough- if he focuses on his rumbling stomach and nothing else- he can almost imagine the aroma getting closer. But wait! That’s just his coach, strolling in an _hour_ later with a five-dollar cappuccino. Heels clicking, she greets Yuuri passively as she approaches, though she strangely ignores Minako; her straight black bob totally passes over his award-winning dance teacher.

 

“It’s good to see you, Yuuri-san.” Coach Toyo says politely, sticking out her free hand to shake. “How was the flight?”

 

“Uh-“

 

“-Good, good.” she interrupts. “Your mother knows where the hotel is, right?” she rambles, seemingly not realizing she _still hasn’t acknowledged Minako_ , who glares at her the way a bear would glare at people who’d want to shoot its cubs.

 

She probably would bite Coach Toyo, if Yuuri let her.

 

“Yes, it’s fine, don’t worry!” Yuuri suddenly rushes, considering his previous thought. “I’m glad everything is fine on your end, Coach. Are you going to… come with us?”

 

Coach Toyo crinkles her nose. “How do you mean?”

 

“To the hotel.”

 

“Oh, no. I’m staying elsewhere.” She shakes her head. “I’m very busy right now. I hope you understand.”

 

Yuuri just kind of… lets his mouth hang open instead of replying. Coach Toyo doesn’t notice though- she’s _busy_ , as she’s said, looking at her watch.

 

“I’ll see you in… two days, then, Yuuri-san.” she says.

 

“Hang on, he needs those days to adjust-“ Minako tries to interrupt.

 

But Coach Toyo is already dashing out of the airport, her office-lady heels clicking away impractically.

 

“…Her website said she used to be an ice dancer.” Yuuri mumbles. “I-I haven’t been to a major competition with her yet, so…”

 

Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

 

Is he trying to _defend_ whatever that was? Maybe. It’s possible he’s just hopeful because he doesn’t want the stress of realizing his coach is bad _two weeks_ before he’s supposed to perform.

 

“You’ve been training with her for almost a year though, right?” Minako mutters quizzically.

 

“I… yeah.” Yuuri mumbles back. “Ever since Coach Honda broke his leg. He hired her for me.”

 

“I see.”

 

Yuuri blinks blearily. He decides he _really_ doesn’t want to deal with whatever that was, since it’ll all  be over by next year when his old coach comes back. These things sort themselves out. Right?

 

He’s not sure if Minako thinks so.

 

She looks to him with a certain gravitas, though the words from her mouth are slurred, and as exhausted as Yuuri feels. She looks at him with his baby-fat cheeks and his big eyes and says, “There are lot of people who think they know what’s best for you. But you’re turning _nineteen_ this year, Yuuri. I hope you know this.”

 

Yuuri swallows.

 

He knows.

 

 

 

 They take a cab to the hotel from there, called from a selection of ten different car services! Higher than the number of cafes Yuuri ended up counting, though he suspects there might have been more that he was too tired to spot.

 

It’s almost late at night by now, and Minako does her best effort to explain their planned route to their driver in English. She mispronounces the name of the hotel twice, but they make it- mostly. When they park by reception, the cabby almost drives off with Yuuri’s costume-bag.

 

By the end, they make it to their room in one tired, messy piece.

 

The place itself isn’t anything special.  If it were, Yuuri would be too tired to appreciate it- he should be spending most of his time training, anyway. There are two beds in here, a bathroom, and a kitchenette with complementary tea and coffee (hallelujah). Yuuri flops down onto one of the beds heartily, claiming it as Minako drags herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

 

It’s a tradition for them room together. Tired and headache-y and disgusting as he is, Yuuri can still appreciate that someday soon, that won’t be happening. It won’t even be a possibility.

 

The dream, of course, is to have a best skater-friend to room with during comps, or otherwise find himself a cheerleader husband who’ll follow him around to every event. Otherwise, once he ages out of Juniors…

 

Yuuri won’t have an excuse to cling to other people anymore.

 

“Yuuuuuri. Go to sleep. I’m your ‘mother’, remember?” Minako croons.

  
The croaking jolts him out of his thoughts. Minako enters the main part of the room and sits down, taking her bed and christening it with a mug of tea. Why is she drinking tea _after_ brushing her teeth? And with milk? _Gross_. Yuuri frowns at her passionately.

 

“What?” Minako teases, misinterpreting the frown. “You want me to sing you a lullaby or something?”

 

She thinks she is very funny. Yuuri does not think she is funny, and instead finds her mortifying. He rolls over to face the wall, his thoughts coming back to _this is why only loser babies share rooms with their teachers._

 

“One note and I’ll kick you in the mouth.” he hisses, screwing his eyes shut for sleep.

 

Minako bursts into cackles at that. The sound- strangely enough- is what sends Yuuri drifting off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--- 18 days until the Short Program ---

 Two nights later, Yuuri is invited to a party.

 

Sort of.

 

It’s more like… a gathering of teenage skaters in the hotel restaurant. But there’s food, and Yuuri’s stuck in the general vicinity of it while he gets over the flight anyway, so he may as well attend. What’s the harm, right?

 

Turns out there’s quite a bit of harm. Because if he thought he was exhausted, then now, he’s _exhausted_ \- the kind that’s not just about physical tiredness- because he forgot that most people he skates with now are still kids.

 

That doesn’t mean they’re rowdy or annoying. It means they’re completely and utterly unrelatable. Many of them are still in the stage of _playing_ adults when Yuuri basically _is_ one, and it’s almost disturbing to him, to see children sipping water out of a champagne glass.

 

Right, yeah. That’s the other thing- as well as being stressful, competitions (and their preludes) are never actually _fun_.

 

Unfortunately, Yuuri’s the one who got himself stuck here, so he may as well accept it. Though it’s a little boring watching everything from the shadows, it’s comfortable, at least. Unlike the world outside of this, nobody here asks him uncomfortable questions or expects him to be greater than he is.

 

Except the truth is that Yuuri is just too scared of looking rude to leave, even if jet-lag is a valid excuse

 

…He gets a headache.

 

That’s the most interesting thing to happen all night. Yuuri sighs, audible to the three kids huddling in a circle near him, though he supposes he should leave them and his comfy little corner to look for one of those glasses of water. Ideally with a painkiller.

 

So he does. And as he approaches the drinks table, he actually begins to notice a chatter. Yuuri cranes his neck to see what it is- and sure enough, his night somehow goes from being boring to a _social disaster_ in one quick look.

 

There’s a boy leaning on the table by the fruity stuff, and his name is Christophe Giacometti. Five-time Junior medalist, Senior Grand Prix bronze medalist, Europeans silver medallist. Qualified _fucking_ Olympian.

 

Yuuri can _feel_ the second Chris’s eyes catch his body.

 

“I’ve finally found him, thank _goodness_!” Christophe sings, gesturing towards Yuuri. People turn to them. Yuuri wants to hide.

 

But he can’t because Chris is pulling him closer with a metaphorical cowgirl lasso, and Yuuri is too stunned by him being _here_ to do anything but comply. He pouts once he’s in range- “I thought you mightn’t have gotten my text on Friday, _mon chéri_. You weren’t waiting in your room!”

 

Like a moth to the flame of chaos.

 

Yuuri tries to laugh, his mouth twisting at an awkward angle.

 

He’s sure it looks ungraceful and gross- not like _Christophe Giacometti_ , who’s smile curves warmly around a growing patch of scruff. He notices that Chris had been chatting to a bored-looking Juniors girl before Yuuri arrived. The girl’s eyes flick to Yuuri briefly, before she leaves their bubble entirely. She’s now talking to a tanned Italian girl.

 

Perhaps she knows something that Yuuri doesn’t.

 

“A shame I can’t introduce you to young _Babicheva_.” Chris snorts, waving after her. “Viktor’s playing her coach while Yakov busies himself with other things. He’s got it in his head that too much training is going to break him.”

 

“V-Viktor?” Yuuri startles. Does that mean--

 

Chris raises a brow. “No, Yakov.” he says. “ _Viktor_ would skate his legs off if you let him, which is why Yakov’s sent him here with me.”

 

What… the fuck.

 

“Viktor’s _here_?!” Yuuri whispers. “As in _here_ here, or as in ‘the same country as us’ _here_?”

 

“You really didn’t read my invitation, did you, _cheri?”_ Chris pouts, mock-hurt. _“_ We were going to go out for drinks and everything, but I never got your RSVP.”

 

With just one sentence, a fresh wave of horror washes over Yuuri. Second to the wave of horror that came with the implication that _Viktor Nikiforov is here_.

 

“…Please don’t tell me you cancelled because of me.” Yuuri croaks.

 

Chris just rolls his eyes at him. “Of course not.” he says. “Viktor decided to be a buzzkill and stay in his room. Blame him. _I’m_ still going to have some fun with him, though- I’m just disappointed you can’t.”

 

_Ah. Chris._

 

“Please don’t tell me _that_ , either.” Yuuri whines. He throws his hands over his face. “There are actual children here.”

“Oh? Right, yes. This _is_ Juniors.” Chris tuts. “Well… I suppose you _can_ still come if you want, but I really wasn’t sure if you were up for that sort of-”

 

“ _Of course this is Juniors_.” Yuuri hisses between his fingers. “What the _fuck_ did you think this was?”

 

Chris blinks.

 

And somewhere, Yuuri blinks too.

 

There’s a moment where he isn’t in his body anymore, because he’s too busy trying to process what he’d just said to Five-time Junior medalist, Senior Grand Prix bronze medalist, Europeans silver medalist, qualified fucking Olympian, his _friend,_ Chris. He’d snapped at him. Yuuri doesn’t snap at people.

 

Chris might be all the things above, but he’s also Yuuri’s closest rival. Viktor is a pipe dream- the man having casual sex with Viktor is actually worth something right now, standing right in front of Yuuri.

 

Just blinking.

 

“Are you alright, Yuuri?” Chris says after a moment.

 

Oh lord. The kids are staring, they _have_ to be staring. Yuuri can _feel_ them staring. “I’m fine.” he manages to choke out. “I have to- go. I have to go.”

 

And so he goes, even if Chris makes a pathetic attempt to stop him.

 

 

 

(Pathetic being the look on Chris’s face as he leaves. It’s not the first time Yuuri’s gone silent, or avoided him. He’s starting to think it’s not just something he’d said, but something more personal.)

 

 (He’s starting to think Yuuri Katsuki just hates everybody.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

\-- 17 Days until the Short Program --

  _~A haze envelops the scene, like fog on a champagne glass~_

 

Yuuri groans, stumbling out of the hotel elevator on a random floor. It’s not his floor. There’s something very wrong.

 

He looks around, and suddenly notices that the hallway is endless, repeating over and over as the same two doors.

 

He approaches one of them, finding it unlocked.

 

He steps inside.

 

He sees…

 

_~The smells of home, his mother’s cooking. The Hasetsu sea breeze.~_

 

Yuuri is back at the Onsen all of a sudden. His parents and his sister and his poodle are here, and they’re chatting to and hanging out with what looks to be the real, _honest- to-god_ Viktor Nikiforov in the living room. Yuuri can’t believe his eyes.

 

He’s even wearing that costume- you know, _that_ one? The one which caused his infamous Grand Prix Final nip-slip. His silver hair cascades down his back in a trail of light, glimmering like a white opal. It’s just as beautiful as Yuuri had always imagined.

 

_~Yuuuuuuri!~_

 

…Oh.

 

It’s then that Yuuri realizes this is a dream.

 

It was something about Viktor- perfect, whole, glittering _Viktor_ \- saying his name like that which made it too impossible to believe. If they met in real life, Yuuri would have no doubts that Viktor would be thinking one of three things: ‘who the hell is this’, ‘why is he breathing so heavy’, and ‘why does he look like he’s about to cry’?

 

He’d _never_ say his name like he cares about Yuuri.

 

_~Viktor’s grinning face begins to fall, in what looks to be genuine disappointment. It disfigures him- and as his face turns ugly, so does the landscape.~_

 

Without warning, everything goes red-and-black and hellish. The room begins to spin, and Viktor, like the spectre he is, disappears. He’s replaced by a cartoon version who smiles comically. It sits in the centre of the world, the whole thing rotating around him-

 

Yuuri cowers from it.

 

No matter what face Viktor has, it’d mock him, somehow. It’s ridiculous, how someone’s existence can both inspire and demoralize him at the same time, but that’s Viktor- the man who knows what he deserves.

 

A humming noise begins to assault Yuuri’s ears in a familiar voice, mixed with the revving of acar motor.

 

”I thought you _liked_ my skating, Yuuri.” Viktor pouts.

Yuuri can’t yell back. The black world transforms around him once more, this time, turning into a rink.

 

The noise dims into agitated whispers now, before it grows louder again, entitled and angry about something. Yuuri wants to run from it, he does so much _running_ \- the judges and the crowd want him to keep skating, but his wrist hurts too much.

 

He’s bound to the ground in bone-crushing pain.

_“That damn jump.” Coach Toyo growls. A man next to her sighs in agreement. “Why can’t he just… quit? Why hasn’t he quit? All he does get hurt, you know. He’s a waste of everybody’s time.”_

 

Yuuri throws his head into his hands. He wants to _scream_. But all that comes out is a muffled noise, like he’s underwater. The sound is thick with his own blood pounding in his ears.

 

 _“I want to prove her wrong!”_ he gurgles.

 

“Oh, come on- You want to prove _yourself_ wrong.” Viktor pointedly corrects.

 

It’s the real one again.

 

The real Viktor, who’d fractured his wrist in a nearly identical way to Yuuri when he was 15, pushing back his senior debut. The real Viktor, with eyes that are strangely vacant in every interview, swirling green to grey and tracing his own steps in his mind. Always thinking about something.

 

“You want to know how I fly.” he says.

 

Eyes blown wide, Yuuri nods as fast as he can. It’s hard with all the water, but he does it. And he sees Viktor smile as he places a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, his long hair falling down to tickle his ear.

 

His voice creeps into his mind like a shiver down his spine, the same kind that Yuuri feels whenever else he dares imagine Viktor’s touch. He’s a little more anchored in the tide, like this, and when he speaks, it’s with a quiet _hush_. The pounding blood stops. Lips parted, close enough to bore into Yuuri skin- to press new oxygen into his lungs- Viktor bares it all.

 

His secret to success.

 

“…Hey, Katsuki.” he murmurs. “Remind me again- why is it that you can’t you do a quad-toe?”

 

 

 

T S U B A S A   O   H  A  Y  A  S  H  I

愛    K  A   R   A

 

N  I  G   E   T   E

 

 

 

 

  “You’re really sick, huh?”

 

Eyes fly open. Yuuri shivers violently, his vision swimming every time he tries to look around. It’s a combination of his chronically sore neck and back, and his remaining jet-lag.

 

He’s _not_ sick.

 

It’s the early morning in this corner of the world, though of course, Yuuri’s brain still operates on Japan-time. It protests the thought of getting out of bed, going to training or even _looking_ at the ice when he ‘should’ be asleep. He grumpily wonders why his body clock couldn’t have been this diligent just a week ago. His eyes are already drooping.

 

“I’m fine.” he mumbles. “I just had a… a bad sleep. Bad dreams.”

 

He didn’t mean to admit that second part. Oh no. “You’re sick.” Minako decides.

 

She walks away, and comes back two? three? minutes later with a plate of toast, thinly layered with butter.

 

“Something plain.” she says. “Your coach still wants you to train, but _damn_ , Yuuri, you really look like hell.”

 

“Don’t let me go out before a competition next time.” He groans.

 

“Were you _drinking_ last night?” Minako’s voice rises.

 

Because of this, as she passes the plate, Yuuri almost fumbles it.

 

“I’m in a division with thirteen-year-olds!” he wheezes.

 

It’s for the best that she doesn’t know about Chris’s initial invitation- or the one afterwards. Thinking about how much _worse_ this could’ve been had he gone to an actual party makes Yuuri wanna hurl on the spot, having to explain to his teacher being hungover or, fuck, not being able to _walk_.

 

(it’s less hot when he thinks about Minako having to witness the aftermath.)

 

She hums, at least, accepting his outburst as proof of good behavior. Yuuri eats his toast slowly in front of her, and in a show of defiance- to both his sensei and his own body- makes an attempt to get out of bed when he’s done.

 

He manages to stumble upwards, Minako raising her brows at his shambling form as he attempts to get across the room.

 

He somehow manages to careen towards his training bag.

 

“…Yuuri.”

 

Uh… huh. As he reaches for it, Yuuri’s hand kind of… freezes there, and he stands inexplicably frozen over it like it’s a fresh bloody corpse.

 

“That’s it.” Minako huffs. “I’m telling Ms Toyo you got the flu and died.”

 

“I think I’m stuck.” Yuuri whimpers.

 

This is how he became bedbound for the day.

 

He has t-minus one week, six days until Junior Worlds starts, and instead of practising his spins, his vision is spinning for him. It does subside after a while, but the initial bout greatly annoys him- folding his arms under the plastic-y hotel sheets in frustration, Yuuri fights himself until he’s so bored that he gives in, closing his eyes to take a nap.

 

He awakes after a few hours to find Minako gone- no doubt out exploring the streets of Amsterdam without him- and the hotel room obviously empty.

 

He has nothing to do except stew in his own misery and play video games.

  
It’s very lucky that he brought his DS with him- Yuuri restarts _Pokémon Platinum_ and makes it to the third gym this time. But combat starts to drag to a crawl, to the point where Yuuri would rather he was playing _Drag-on Dragoon_ instead. At least he could hear the opening theme and pretend he was practicing for his free skate- he’s been using a piano arrangement of it this season, and one of the lines has been stuck in his head ever since.

 

Something to do with growing wings.

 

Yuuri sighs- his last _Pokémon_  has just gone down.

 

He was absolutely certain that _Shinx_ was a dark-type, too, but apparently that was wrong. He regretfully reaches for his phone- it’s charging on the bedside- as he decides to just Google how he’s supposed to beat this stupid ghost-type gym leader.

 

That is, until he gets a message from Thailand.

 

**PHICHIT**

>Yuuri!!!! Can you facetime?

 

...Yuuri’s vision has stopped spinning by now, so he supposes he can. He smiles, swiping the message open.

 

**YUURI**

>sure.

 

He initiates a call, and it only takes a few rings before Phichit’s face appears on screen.

 

“Yo, Yuuri!” he cheers, almost immediately. “Are you busy training, or am I saving you from boredom?”

 

“The last one, unfortunately.” Yuuri groans. “Hey, uh… do you play Pokémon?”

 

 

 

 Phichit is an easy friend to keep. That’s what Yuuri thinks.

 

He likes the other skater a great deal, and his company is the kind where Yuuri doesn’t feel like he’s exerting his energy just to be present. The silences come naturally, and Phichit- as keen as a blade- knows when to fill them and when to leave them be.

 

Also, he really enjoys hearing Yuuri ramble about his interests for some reason. It might be because Yuuri loves to hear him ramble about his. He even fantasizes about being able to move to America with Phichit someday, once the contract with his coach is up and he signs with a guy called Celestino. But they don’t talk about that today- today, they talk about the most stupid, inane teenage shit they can think of.

 

And it’s wonderful.

 

It goes like this until Minako comes back, with the sound of her cursing the slightly-bent hotel key as she tries to fit it through the door. Once she’s in, Phichit is informed.

 

“Minako’s here.” Yuuri says. The lights outside grow bright as the sky grows dim- a bit too much time has passed since the call first started, mayhaps. Not that either boy cares. Yuuri spins the camera to her. “You should say hi.”

 

“Hi, Yuuri’s coach!” Phichit cheers, waving.

 

Yuuri’s face drains of color the moment he realizes Phichit’s mistake, and he shoots Minako a look. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to care one bit. She’s still setting down her bags. 

 

“Jeez, Yuuri. First, I’m your mother, and now I’m your coach?”

 

“Whoops.” Phichit laughs.

 

“Who’s that on the phone?”

 

“A-ah.” Yuuri stammers, turning the camera back to himself. “Phichit is a friend. He’s another junior from Thailand.”

 

Phichit smiles proudly on his end. Minako, however, raises a brow. For whatever reason. “I guess that’s why you like to spend your time indoors.” she comments. “Can’t bring your friend where there’s no wi-fi.”

 

“Don’t worry!” Phichit beams. “When I see Yuuri at the next Senior Grand Prix, I’ll make sure he gets plenty of fresh air.”

 

“Wait. You’re going into Seniors?”

 

Minako is suddenly _very_ interested in Phichit and Yuuri. She leans forward ever so slightly, her knees digging dents in the bed as Phichit replies. “Yup! I’m only three years younger than Yuuri. There’s no point in staying behind when I could be going against up the big guns!”

 

That’s… what?

 

“What?” Yuuri whispers harshly.

 

“I’m not sure if I’m familiar with that expression,” Minako says, “but I like your attitude. Reckon you could give Yuuri some of it?”

 

 “I like your attitude too, Minako-san.” Phichit winks.

 

“Why do I feel like everyone’s suddenly against me?” Yuuri moans.

 

Both Minako and Phichit cast a side-eye at him.

 

These sorts of things… they’re not a problem for Phichit. He might not be able to fly like Viktor, but he’s got an energy of his own, a name he’s creating from scratch. Phichit is _Phichit_ , and Yuuri is just… _Yuuri_. He’s a good friend, but even then, Yuuri doesn’t think he gets it.

 

“I know I’m not technically good enough yet,” Phichit continues blithely- how knowing he’s not good enough doesn’t shatter him, Yuuri is _puzzled_ -“but if I don’t move up now, I don’t think I ever will.”

 

“Hear, hear.” Minako says. “Seriously, Yuuri, listen to this kid.”

 

Yuuri breath comes out in a grunt of frustration- what does _Minako_ know, either?- as he ignores her completely and tries to go back to talking about Phichit.

 

“You _are_ good enough.” he tells his friend. “You wouldn’t be moving up if you weren’t.”

 

And he means it; Phichit’s skating is one of Yuuri’s inspirations. Phichit knows that. He also knows he wouldn’t care if he wasn’t. “I _would_ be moving up regardless.” Phichit points out. “Because I want to keep skating, even if I sucked at it. Who else gets an opportunity like we do, Yuuri? If I can skate on the same ice as Viktor, I’m gonna do it. No matter what.”

 

“But --?”

 

 _What if?,_ is what gets stuck in Yuuri’s throat. _What if?_

The probability of everything happening, or nothing happening at all. It terrifies him, the infinite amount of scenarios- of _what ifs_. None of them are in Yuuri’s control. _Nothing_ is in Yuuri’s control. “What if something happens?”

 

“Well…” Phichit thinks. “I suppose that’s… kinda the idea. You do things because you want something to happen. In a very broad sense.”

 

“But that’s so… so…”

 

 _Scary_ , Yuuri whispers on the inside. _It’d be so much easier if we just did nothing at all._

 

 

 

 

 

\--- 16 Days until the Short Program ---

   _~“When do you think you’ll be going into seniors, Yuuri?”~_

 

Viktor Nikiforov, with a report’s mic outstretched, doesn’t seem to realize the weight this question brings. It holds heavy on Yuuri’s heart, some days. He swallows the words to the back of his throat like a thick, bitter medicine, and coughs.

 

“I haven’t thought about moving up yet” he says. “I’m not confidant in my quads, and frankly, I don’t know if I’ll ever-”

“I don’t particularly like liars, _Yuuri_.” Viktor snaps.

 

“…Then d-don’t ask the question.” Yuuri replies back, boldly.

 

Then, the background fades, and Viktor straightens. The microphone disappears, and Viktor teleports to Yuuri’s side. No longer a reporter, but a competitor- there’s a gold medal hanging from his neck, reflecting his blue-sky eyes so much harsher than the truth.

 

“It’s not your quads you’re unsure of.” he murmurs. “If it was, you’d be working on them all night, every night.”

 

“I _am_ working at night.” Yuuri protests. “Why do you think I was at Minako’s studio at 3am all mont—"

 

“ _Sometimes_ you work.” Viktor corrects. “And when you do, it’s to work off your thoughts. Most of the time now, you’re just too sad to sleep. So you throw yourself into skating like it’ll make it go away.”

 

“No!“

 

Viktor doesn’t want to hear his protests. He takes Yuuri’s hand and leads him to a press conference room, which appeared out of nowhere, and sits at the mic-stand. Yuuri is dumped where the reporters wait. Their roles are now reversed.

 

Viktor leans forwards both elbows, resting his chin on both his hands.

 

“Every coach who's ever told you that you're 'great' is a liar. Every cent your family’s spent has been a useless, total, _utter_ , waste.” Viktor chants. His hands come slamming down in one sickening motion, to the flat of the press table.

 

“Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s supposed ‘ace’, is an astronomical let-down!” he bellows. “Just look! He can’t even believe in himself- how are we supposed to believe in him! The odds of him making it to the podium in _anything-_ let alone the next Junior Worlds, let alone if he _miraculously_ moves into Seniors- might as well be the same odds as him landing a stupid quad-toe!”

 

“Viktor, stop it!” Yuuri screams.

 

 _It’s just a dream. This is a nightmare. It’s not real. He is you and you are him-_ that’s not Viktor up there, but Yuuri’s thoughts given form. It's not  _real_.

 

”You _know_ I’m saying these things for a reason.” Viktor pleads. “Yuuri, please. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri-“

 

 

 

 

Time he ra ld s   i n    t h  e   b l a c k e n e d   m  o  r  n  i  n  g.

 

 

 

 

 Yuuri doesn’t feel great by the morning.

 

Considering… yeah, considering he had a nightmare again, that might be a given.  But he’s determined to start training anyway, and with Minako’s (begrudging) approval, he wakes up early to travel with her to the official rink.

 

Really, it’s just a short walk from the hotel- but Yuuri’s unsure if he would have been awake enough to go, had Minako not been there to watch him. Either way, they reach the rink and part ways, mutually disappearing into the European cold.

 

 “Have fun café-hopping.” Yuuri calls after her.

 

“Have fun at the _new rink_.” Minako slyly calls back.

 

Because she _knows_ how Yuuri used to get whenever he got to skate in a new rink. Just a tiny bit giddy, he ducks his head, and tries not to grin.

 

(Basically, while other kids had Disneyland, Yuuri had ice rinks. Each new one was like trying a ride for the first time.)

 

His excitement, these days, is always tampered by the fact that a new rink tends to mean there’s a competition ahead- but Yuuri enjoys remembering the burst of feeling, and does his best to try and channel it when he skates.

 

Venturing further inside, he removes his outdoor jacket and stows away his things. There’s a set of seats placed beside the ice, in lieu of proper benches, and Yuuri sets his training bags down on a row. Since he’s still a week early to scheduled practices (next week is when the ISU has the whole rink on lockdown. This week is still technically open to the public), there are large gaps in the rink’s schedule Yuuri can take full advantage of. Theoretically, it gives Yuuri and his coach time to train away from other people’s eyes- totally alone, just how Yuuri’s used to it.

 

…Although predictably, she’s late again.

 

She doesn’t seem too fussed when she _does_ appear, though. Setting her handbag by the rink-gate, she pulls out a clip board and begins to observe Yuuri, who already has his guards off, blades on, and glasses set aside as he skates focused figures around the rink.

 

“Yuuri-san.” she greets him, when he finally scrapes to a pause. “You’re working on your Short Program today.”

 

She looks down to check her clipboard as Yuuri looks _up_ in confusion. “Uh… all of it?” he asks.

 

“Well, of course _not_.” Coach Toyo makes a sucking noise. “Just your steps. Might as well polish what you’re good at.”

 

…As much as Yuuri finds his short program dull, he knows every part of his step-sequence off by heart. He doesn’t need to practice it. “I- yes, Coach, but my jumps--”

 

Coach Toyo looks at him with challenge. “Your jumps?” she repeats. “You don’t _have_ that many of them. They’re barely important. If you were a skater who did quads, _then_ I’d be telling you to practice your jumps.”

 

“But I _am-_ ”

 

Yuuri bites his lip the moment sound starts to come out.

 

It’s far too late, though. Coach Toyo realizes what he’d meant. She- and Yuuri’s old Coach- were there the day he broke his wrist. She’d seen how he’d faltered, before he’d even entered the jump. She knew what he looked like when he cried.

 

 _Weak_.

 

“If you were,” Coach Toyo says slowly, “I would have encouraged you to progress to seniors. Do you understand?”

 

Her tone is calm. Almost bored. But her eyes- and it’s _always_ her eyes- they’re scream passive-aggression, _daring_ Yuuri to tell her she’s wrong. A part of Yuuri wants to take her up that challenge. But the more sensible part knows that he needs her if he wants to look professional, so he has no choice but to comply.

 

“I… yes. Coach.” he says.

 

He’ll put up with it.

 

Coach Toyo sighs, stowing away her clipboard for now and pulling out her phone, which has Yuuri’s SP music. “You know that I know what’s best.” she drawls. “I wouldn’t ever let you embarrass yourself. You’d embarrass me, Mr Honda _and_ the whole of Japan in the process.”

 

“Y-yes, Coach.” Yuuri swallows.

 

 

(That’s how Yuuri knows to listen out for the rain when the weatherman tells him there’s going to be sun. Good things never last- his Disneyland became a place of pressure, when the reality of international skating came crashing down.)

 

(Yuuri can’t imagine what it’d would have been, like for all the skaters better than him.)

 

 

 

 He spends another two hours at the rink, drilling his god-awful short program into his brain further than necessary. It’s a piano piece, but a standard one- Nocturne no 5 in b flat major, probably by some dead European dude. Its melancholic tones remind Yuuri of soft beds and comforting things, which is absolutely the most artistically _boring_ thing his coach could’ve chosen for him.

 

Now his Free Program- that’s far more interesting.

 

Yuuri did mention he chose the music for that himself, to his coach’s chagrin. It’s unfortunate how much she dislikes it, purely because it means that it’s had less time professional time put into it than Nocturne no 5.  It’s not like Yuuri wants to fight with his Coach on it now, though.

 

It’ll be over soon- he just has to put up with it.

 

Yuuri practically collapses in bed once he gets back to the hotel. His feet burn from skating and walking- not as bad as usual, but enough to bother him.

 

Luckily, Minako is ready and waiting with two cups of coffee and a box of takeaway pastries. She takes one glance at Yuuri’s face- covered in sweat and drooping like a zombie- and insists that he eats.

 

Yuuri takes one look at her selection and physically grimaces.

 

“I don’t think this is on my diet plan.” he deadpans. He’s secretly grateful, but he _does_ have a figure to maintain, thank-you-very-much. Yet he’s well aware that Minako doesn’t give two figs- she thinks that sort of thing is a modern form of torture.

 

“A person on a diet is a person who isn’t happy.” she says wisely. “Now hurry up before I get to the croissants.”

 

 

 

 

 

\--- 8 days until the Short Program ---

  Yuuri continues to have restless dreams, worse than any lack of sleep. By the time his scheduled training comes around- which it does, inevitably marking the halfway point before he competes- he’s guaranteed to close his eyes each night and see Viktor Nikiforov, taking him to trial over every single little thing.

 

The worst is when he runs out of things to say, because _that’s_ when he gets out the scalpel.

 

By night 9, he’s picking apart Yuuri’s personality, scoring his flesh and skewering him up until he’s bite-sized and in pieces. He thinks of his free skate music- the goal on the horizon, where Yuuri finally gets to do what he wants, gets to be _free_ \- and tries his best to picture how great it’ll feel to finally skate like himself again. To tell his story, to be the artist he loves being on the ice. To be that kid visiting Disneyland.

 

It’s the only thing getting him through.

 

Viktor reminds him while he works, about how darkness   digs   at   everywhere    thinkable,  before it arrives                 inevitably                 at  

the guillotine.

 

 

 

 

 

\---7 days until the Short Program ---

  Yuuri is exhausted before he’s even woken up.

 

His chest is only now beginning to slow from its frantic hammer- he’s not even sure if he’d slept at all last night. He doesn’t remember if he’d dreamed, but that’s partially why he feels so terrified. Their disappearance feels like a tactic. He’s paranoid he won’t be able to sleep again, like before they’d started. He has to go to training today. Just like every other day.

 

Yuuri does his best to keep it down as he groans, with all the effort it takes to get out of bed. “Practice…” he mumbles incoherently.

 

Minako walks past him- already fully dressed- and raises a brow.

 

“Since when are you _not_ ready before me?” she observes.

 

Yuuri groans again, wishing that Minako could have saved his day off last week for today. He feels worse than the echoes of jetlag could ever make him, without any real reason or cause, other than the nightmares that have been spitting his own venom back at him. And even then, they’re a childish excuse. Not even a creative one.

 

Practise hasn’t been going well. He can’t do anything the way his Coach wants, and since he’s already failed in so many ways, he’s certain that he’s going to fail again. Maybe his dreams were trying to tell him something about this- maybe he should have listened. The closer Yuuri gets to performing his free, the less he feels like he _wants_ that freedom.

 

“Why can’t I just go back to sleep…” he sighs, rubbing a palm over his face.

 

He’d chanced suggesting that he try the quad-toe yesterday, too.

 

Coach Toyo had looked at him like he’d asked permission to commit murder. He’d gone and tried it anyway and ended up with an under-rotated triple that stung his elbow, leaving him with a bruise the size of a tennis ball. A sign that he should just give up already, _surely_. It hurts enough to be.

 

Lost in his own thoughts, Yuuri stares at the hotel kitchenette and tries to decide how much effort making a cup of tea should really take.

 

“Yuuri, you’re going to be late.”

 

“It’s fine. Coach doesn’t care.” Yuuri mumbles. He manages to grab a teacup from the cupboard and dump a bag in the bottom. He forgets if they have sugar here to sweeten it. He forgot to turn the kettle on and boil the water.

 

It shouldn’t feel like this.

 

 

 

 

 

\--- 6 days until the Short Program ---

 Though he’s able to get out of the hotel in time to meet up with his coach at the rink, Yuuri feels totally out of energy to do anything else- and the day has only just begun. The foreign sickness his bowels has been steadily growing since yesterday, and there’s nothing Yuuri can do to supress the swell.

 

 _Everything_ wants to get on his nerves today.

 

He still shows up for practise, though- still puts in his best- though he feels like he’s gained nothing for it. He’d stepped out of a spin yesterday and he’s been thinking about it ever since because he hasn’t done that for _years_. Yuuri can’t understand what the English-only rink staff are saying him, and without his glasses, his vision is too blurry to even _see_ what they’re saying.

 

Junior Worlds looms closer.

 

Coach Toyo apparently doesn’t feel the pressure of _anything_ , international-fucking-competition included. She arrives at the rink on-time for once in her life, when Yuuri’s just getting ready to skate, though she’s still dressed in her outdoor coat and sunglasses.

 

She’s holding two drinks, which is strange, because she’s not the drink-buying kind of person. She takes off her glasses and shakes her hair nonchalantly. “Ah, Yuuri-san.” she tuts. “Apologies for being early.”

 

 _She’s apologizing for being decent, huh_?

 

Yuuri wants to laugh.

 

“I was just wondering- have you gotten over that little spell of yours?” she asks.

 

“Spell?”

 

Coach Toyo nods. “Your skating has been worse than usual.” she says. “I was hoping you’d have fixed that by now.”

 

Yuuri inhales a sharp breath of artificially cold air. “Yes, coach.” He replies. Stacatto, like the pounding of a timpani.

 

“Good.” Coach Toyo nods. “Anyway, this is my new student.”

 

As it turns out, that second drink was for a girl.

 

Yuuri watches in slow motion as his Coach gestures towards the other person hiding on the benches behind behind them; a brown-haired, unremarkable girl with nothing in her eyes but _glaze_. She looks like she isn’t even here, too focused on fiddling with her skates. They have a little gem encrust ed on each side of them.

 

“She obviously isn’t in your division, but I think it’ll be good for you to learn from her.” Coach Toyo says. “I’ll call directions from the side.”

 

This girl _doesn’t even know how to take her blade covers off properly._

 

“Sure thing, coach.” Yuuri chokes, his throat rising just a little.

 

“Pardon?” Coach Toyo asks- not in politeness, but that challenge again. It makes this awful, sour taste creep up Yuuri as he walks away from her, waiting for the _other student_ to get ready.

 

From a good distance away on the benches- they sit on opposite ends- Yuuri hears Coach Toyo repeat her previous statement to this girl in English.  Apparently, she doesn’t speak Japanese. Funny that. Coach Toyo will learn a whole ‘nother language for someone else. But for Yuuri, she couldn’t give a single shit about whether or not he _breathes_ so long as he’s on her payroll.

 

For the first time that he can remember in a long time, Yuuri is angry.

Coach Toyo doesn’t even look at him as he picks up his training bag, a decision forming tentatively in his mind. He doesn’t deserve _this_ \- the muck in his stomach begins to boil. “Hey, Coach.” Yuuri calls, doing his best to keep his voice calm. “My friend Phichit doesn’t have any quads. He’s going into seniors.”

 

Coach Toyo is trying to show the other student how to do up her laces, now. “Is he?” she sighs. “that’s nice.”

 

“And Viktor Nikiforov-” Yuuri chokes. He starts again. “and Chris. Christophe Giacometti. Both of them have been injured, and lost quads, and failed horribly. They still went into seniors.”

 

“Do you have, like, a _point_?” the girl skater who can’t do up her own shoes bites. _How dare someone think I’m worth less than her,_ Yuuri thinks. _How dare they_. He ignores her entirely.

 

“ _I’m_ just as good as them.” he tells Coach Toyo pointedly. “I might not feel it all the time, but I… I _am_.”

 

And then he lets that statement hang in the air, for a moment or two.

He hears his own breath echo back at him.

 

It’s another moment before Coach Toyo hauls herself from her knees, turns around, and stands eye-level with Yuuri. She’s a very short woman with chicken-bone arms- Yuuri feels like a coward for ever being afraid of her.

 

“…Katsuki. I’m going to be very frank.” she says. Yuuri’s chest stutters. She called him- “You were never going to be as good as any of them, and I meant my word when I said I wasn’t going to embarrass you.” she shrugs. “I’ll do as I’m paid as a coach, but no more. You’re not going to seniors with Coach Honda or me.”

 

And just like that- with a few, little words- something snaps.

 

“I’m officially retiring as your student.” Yuuri croaks.

 

 

 

…His throat stripped to the bone with acid, mouth tasting like chocolate pastry and stale coffee. Yuuri gags at the taste of it alone, the force of his sickness pricking tears in his eyes. Fishing out his phone- which has a new crack where Yuuri threw it onto the bathroom sink- he calls Minako, and begs for her to take him home.

 

He starts crying again.

 

…An hour passes. The sink now has an imprint of his hand on it.

 

…The crying, finally, stops. The retching, too. The rink is empty again, besides Yuuri, so he decides that he should do what he does best (or worst, take your pick)- skate.

 

Moving unthinkingly, until his skate-guards are gone and he’s gliding out, onto the cool, crystal sheet …

 

 

 

Yuuri wasn’t looking to skate to anything in particular, really. He just felt like doing it, perhaps like how ghosts still want to pretend they can eat or drink after they’ve died. He goes through the motions of a song he’s got entrenched in is body, instead of just moving to the music, and finds his voice fits it much better than what he’d had before. The music leaks from every pore, now, instead of the other way around. He is the song. His movements are Yuuri Katsuki.

 

 

 _Tsukiru, tsukiru._ It means ‘to be exhausted’. To run out of something. To come to a burning end.

 

 

 

 Yuuri had begun to feel a little more human, after that. Though the itch was still present in his skin, and he still wasn’t fine, he’d realized- quite belatedly- that his skating had most likely cut into somebody else’s rink time.

 

There‘s no way he could keep skating when his fears were proven right.

 

Without noticing when or how she’d come in a young girl had stormed onto the ice, angrily huffing past Yuuri at the rink-gate. Now, she nearly crashes into him as she zooms away- her skates screeching like a car crash as they tear against the ice. She sets off into some sort of warm-up- a determination as red-hot as her hair, in a way that seems strangely familiar to Yuuri. He’s not sure where he’s seen her before.

 

In any case, if he hadn’t have known any better, Yuuri would have thought that the scowl on her face was the same one Yuuri gets when he watches _his_ competition.

 

(the one that wonders how they’re able to fly. )

_She’s probably just upset I’ve wasted half her time,_ Yuuri thinks, dismissing himself bitterly.  It’s laughable to think he’d ever be considered someone’s inspiration, let alone a threat to anybody.

 

He’s stalling. Minako’s just texted him and he needs to leave, so he slips his on skate- guards when he finds them, and prepares his things.

 

Just before he does, though, Yuuri figures it might be a good idea to look for the girl’s coach, not because he wants to talk to them, but because he wants to hope he doesn’t _know who they are_. Yuuri would be _mortified_ if he’d somehow stolen ice time from the Russian team. He could potentially gain a name with his idols as a rink-stealer.

 

(speaking of- Yuuri secretly wants to check if Viktor had, somehow, seen the whole thing.)

 

Chris did him the favour of letting him know he’d be around, though Yuuri hasn’t had to be on alert yet. It worries him that he might ever… well. That skate was a _mess_ with no music, and Yuuri’s breath still faintly smells of vomit. He’s basically in no state to be seen, and the idea of _Viktor_ seeing him in this state _especially_ makes his stomach lurch. Lucky for Yuuri, the only other person here he can see- besides the girl on the ice- is a young man standing shock-still in the corner of the rink.

 

Wearing an ugly pink beanie and imitation-brand fitness attire, the man’s silver-grey hair swings short over his eyes- his swirling, bright blue eyes. Besides that, he’s almost unremarkable, really. Except for...

 

Wait, hang on. Yuuri finally finds his glasses by his training bag and squints. _There we go._

 

Except for the fact that the man appears to have been crying, with tears like pearls glittering along his lashes, falling softly over parted lips.

_Huh._ Yuuri thinks. _That makes two of us, at least._ Though he highly doubts he looks quite that pretty every time he bursts into tears. Something about the man is much more attractive when Yuuri has his glasses on, and perhaps that makes Yuuri feel a little better. Perhaps it doesn’t. Fact is, he manages- despite the ugly feelings still in his gut- a half-smile at the coincidence.

 

Minako is waiting, so he leaves without looking back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (TW spoilers) 
> 
> \- Yuuri's coach (an oc) is a bitch who basically neglects him (she's not a horrible person, but she is kind of shitty to Yuuri)  
> \- Yuuri has a few nightmares where he fights a false version of Viktor. Think like people's shadows in Persona 4/5  
> \- Yuuri also has major panic attack towards the end of this part, and also during the next chapter. He has one that I kind of glance over in the middle, right after a confrontation with his coach.  
> \- There are mentions of vomiting/being or feeling physically ill because of anxiety
> 
> (end spoilers)
> 
>    
> I really don't know if you can stay in a hotel for as long as he has, and I've fudged some numbers regarding time and jet lag and whatnot for the sake of just /finishing/ this goddamn story. A lot of this isn't perfect and I'm aware of it. What I'd really love is getting comments, kudos and/or subscriptions to this fic while I write out the last bit!! Encouragement and/or praise in any form really would mean the world to me, more than anyone could know 
> 
> Thank you for reading so far <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's panic attack starts under the final heading of this chapter, if anyone needs to skip it.

 

\--- 5 days until the Short Program ---

  Yuuri takes a shower, because he feels like he needs it. It doesn’t help refresh him like he wants it to, though- he can’t wash the afterimage of tears from his eyes- and he thinks he should probably be giving Minako a proper explanation of what happened, considering he pretty much just passed out last night.

 

He doesn’t tell her he’d been crying, but somehow, she knows.

 

“It’s… regrettable that you don’t have a coach.” she frowns- probably at her own choice of words. “I suppose the timing could have been better. But I think you did the right thing.”

 

It doesn’t  _feel_  like the right thing.

 

Yuuri had expected Minako to be mad at him, actually. He’ s a little furious that she’s not, because some part of him has decided to interpret her passiveness as uncaring-ness. Even if he knows that’s not true, it  _feels_  that way.

 

In reality, Yuuri should be grateful that she hasn’t sent his ass back to Japan in a shipping container.

 

 

 

 Later on, Yuuri figures he should let Phichit know what’s happened, in case social media decides to make up rumors again.

 

It’s a quick response from him, thankfully. Phichit even assures Yuuri that he’ll handle ‘the fans’ through twitter for him, not that Yuuri has  _fans_ , but it’s the thought that counts. Locking him out of his own twitter might be the best thing for him to do, right now.

 

Of course, there’s one last thing he checks before he goes. Coach Toyo’s a statement regarding Yuuri, officially confirming that she and him are no longer working together. Coach Honda, with his leg still broken, will also not be available, and he is ‘considering his future’ before he re-commits to Yuuri as a coach.

 

It was a mutual decision, Coach Toyo had claimed.

 

The statement isn’t a surprise. So it won’t be a surprise, either, when Yuuri turns up to the short program in five days without a coach.

 

…

 

Oh, god.

 

It’s in  _five days_. The pressure behind his skull, or the weight sitting on his chest- it lays heavier and heavier the more Yuuri tries to breathe, the more he tries to eat, sleep,  _skate_ -

 

 _It’s in five days,_ he panics.

 

“Hey, Yuuri. You still want me to make tea, or can you do it?” Minako asks, from across the room.

 

 

(Maybe… maybe if Yuuri just ignores it, this time, it’ll go away. If he just keeps going, if he just puts up with it, maybe it’ll go away.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--- A few days before the Short Program ---

  Yuuri’s schedule of sleeping, training and  _more_  training leaves him less room to worry about the small things, and more room to worry about the big things. Like the fact that Worlds starts in four days. And that he’s  _alone_. He begins to go about anything that isn’t skate-related with a half-heart, sure- but it’s an effort better than none, right?

 

When he’s skating, all that Yuuri needs is an idea of how he’s going to pull off the next element. How this jump is going to go. What he’s going to do with his face. No more noise in his mind.

 

The performance part of it- the emotions he needs to portray- can come to him on the day, for all he cares. Yuuri’s too busy trying not to make amateur, baby-ish mistakes to care about feelings. He’ll skate with a hollow heart if he needs. Even if it doesn’t  _feel_  right, it’s all he can do. It’s all he manages to do without tearing himself at the seams.

 

(Though he’s not empty like he pretends to be. There’s just so much inside him that it’s become dangerous, so he’s locked it away and  _pretended_.)

 

(It feels like still lake, with dangerous tremors underneath.)

 

Yuuri goes back and forth between the hotel and the rink each day. He crosses the road on cue, colder than the air, and stiffer than a stale piece of bread. He does this each day without a difference- except for once, a time where he’d managed to catch his reflection in a car mirror.

 

He’d found his eyes strangely vacant, swirling brown to grey and tracing his own steps, always thinking about something.

 

He  _hates_  that look.

 

 

 

 

\--- The day of the Short Program ---

  The night before his short program is the only time in weeks that Yuuri gets a full eight hours sleep. He turns up to final practise in the late afternoon, making it to the side of the rink right after the women’s competition.

 

It doesn’t feel like Worlds has started. All this build-up, and the universe hasn’t even ended yet.

 

Yuuri waits for his allotted ice-time patiently, while Minako hangs back in the stands, holding his glasses with a stern, pensive look on her face. He hops from foot to foot as he waits, warming up and trying not to thinking about anything, hoping that this detached calm-feeling stays. But that’s so much easier said than done.

 

He doesn’t have a lot of jumps, and they’re mostly doubles- Yuuri needs to land all his jumps today if he wants a shot at winning. He  _does_  want a shot. He thinks he might want more than that. But he’d never dare say that aloud, let alone admit it to himself, and-

 

The women’s winners are circling the ice in front of him, smiling and laughing and soaking up their applause. Most of them look about Yuuri’s age, so they must be happy to win a medal at their last Junior comp. One of them smiles at Yuuri, waving happily. There’s gold threaded around her neck.

 

She looks… content.

 

Yuuri raises his arm to wave back at her, but- his can’t, all of a sudden. His body isn’t doing what he wants it to.

 

He darts his gaze away quickly, taking a deep, sharp breath of panic.

_Don’t_ , he pleads with himself.  _Please, for once, just don’t._

 

He tries to calm his breath, examining the arena to the left, to the right, possibly considering a bathroom escape to calm down properly. Where’s the exit again? He sees purple barriers and yellow rink-gates. There’s people cheering, a Russian flag flying somewhere… a bob of red hair in his peripheral vison.

 

No exit, but he’s found that Junior girl from earlier in the week.

 

The one who skated like she wanted to kill somebody. The one who was talking to Chris two weeks before that, at that hotel gathering. It never occurred to Yuuri that it was the same girl- what was her name? Viktor was her substitute coach right now.

 

Oh god,  _Viktor_  could be here.

 

_stop finding excuses to panic._

Yuuri’s head turns so fast it gives him whiplash. He swears he heard someone calling his name, or the sound music.  _That_  song, coming from somewhere, taunting him- he looks to the girl as she mouths  _burn to nothingness burn away._

 

He’s panicking. He’s imagining this.

 

Yuuri bolts out of the arena.

 

 From there, he goes downhill, and he goes downhill fast.

 

As if everything from the past few weeks, days, and months have finally caught up to him in one big  _rush_. It’s worse than the meltdown he had after firing his coach for a reason he’s too distraught to find, but might have something to do with how  _that_ , at least, could be justified. This? This is all in Yuuri’s mind.

 

How  _pathetic_.

 

If he was to describe what he was feeling, he would say it was something like fear- pure, flight-or-fight fear- in its most irrational, chaotic form. It doesn’t care what it destroys.

 

Yuuri braces a hand on the toilet door as his head swims, a whine ripping from his throat as his breathing quickens and his chest constricts. The cold-blue tiles below glare at him menacingly. It’s getting hard to think.

 

Not because Yuuri’s head goes blank, but because there’s a chorus of screaming voices beginning in his mind like every one of his nightmares have become real.

 

He  _tries_  not to think, but the cacophony won’t stop reminding him how it’ll be more than a medal he misses out on if he fails today. It’s his dignity on the line. It’s the end of the world, it’s the  _end of everything_  if he fails. Nobody will want him,  _you’ll be left alone forever and your career will be over. You useless, useless, use l es s,_

 

 

 

Yuuri’s suddenly out on the ice, glasses off, time passing without his notice.

 

The music has started, and he’s skating- Yuuri doesn’t even know how he  _got_  here, and he can’t make it stop. He wishes he could make it stop. But he can’t, so he puts up with it, with tears of panic in his eyes.

 

Two minutes and ten seconds in and Yuuri doesn’t even know if he’s in time with the music.

 

_Help._

 

“And now for skater Katsuki’s final element, a triple ax- what?!”

 

He falls. He  _knew_  this was coming, even though he’d forgotten how he got here. Yuuri has long predicted his own demise- Yuuri falls, and his technical score is so low that it’ll cost him a top four finish. He falls and he’s fallen, he’s falling.

 

_Please. Help me._

 

“Skater Katsuki was a favourite for the podium back at the Junior Grand Prix Finale, but…”

 

“Why isn’t he getting up?”

 

“Perhaps he still hasn’t recovered from his breakup with his coach. Katsuki is known for being quite emotional.”

 

“I hate to say it, but going into that jump, it almost looks like he didn’t try.”

 

Yuuri takes a shuddering breath through his nose, trying not to let out a sob.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_‘Skater Yuuri Katsuki received a total of 53.87 points for the short program. His physical injuries are currently being assessed by a doctor overnight, as well as the cause of his later off-ice collapse being determined.’_

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ya'll! I decided to split chapter 1 into two, since I thought it was too long. It also means I can post chapter 3 today! Which I did! Yay!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has developed a process for dealing with himself, and it normally involves panicking, a lot if crying, and hiding away until everything resolves itself on its own. Unfortunately, what happened yesterday isn't going to go away for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of right now, this hasn't been beta'd or edited. Living life on the edge, baby B)

 

It came out in shaky sobs. Forced out like a bad cough, and Yuuri is ashamed for it. A freshly 18-year-old, supposed-to-be-an-adult like him should be _better_ than this.

 

After his Coach and his Sensei had berated him so harshly, so _unnecessarily_ , Yuuri feels like he’s regressed to a whining two-year-old, incapable of doing more than complain. He screws his eyes shut tight, though it does nothing to block out the overwhelming noise of the world outside. He can hear his parents and sister going about their lives downstairs, patrons of the onsen sighing happily- they obviously can‘t hear Yuuri, so he wrenches a hand into his flesh, flinching at the pain of his nails digging into his shoulders.

 

He’s crying, now. It hurts too much to not cry.

 

Yuuri lets himself, if only because he’s alone, if only because nobody will ever see him like this. He lets himself mourn the quad he can’t do anymore, his skating ability he’s starting to lose to the harsh panic that grips his heart at competitions. He cries about how sensitive he is to others, about how easily he gives up- about how much he feels like he’s alone in this world, or that he isn’t loved, and that no one ever will.

 

Yuuri’s baby-face, his nervousness, his inability to maintain most friendships-- his deepest shame about everything he is.

 

Yuuri is weak, and he knows it.

 

As a kid, his mother used to tell him how stubborn he was. How determined he was to get things his own way. Yuuri thinks- no, he _knows_ \- that something has gone wrong along the way, and that the boy who had something to prove has been lost to his own fears and anxieties.

 

And that’s all there is to it…

 

 

(He hates it.)

 

(Yuuri hates it so much; there’s no way something so pathetic could be his reality.)

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_‘…Skater Katsuki Yuuri was discharged from a local clinic early this morning. Doctors have assessed that he has no significant physical injuries, and that his fall off-ice was caused by little more than stress and fatigue. It is assumed that he will still be competing in the Free Program later this week.’_

* * *

 

\--- Day after the Short Program ---

Yuuri has developed a process for dealing with himself, and it normally involves panicking, a lot if crying, and hiding away until everything resolves itself on its own.

 

Unfortunately, what happened yesterday isn't going to go away for a long time.

 

Yuuri had heard his score from a doctor overnight, though he really wishes he’d never asked her. His failure had earnt him a disgusting 53.87, scraping him in at the very bottom of the qualifiers. _How_ he’d qualified for the Free Skate is a mystery. He’d mumbled as such aloud, earning him a dirty look from the nurses.

 

He was then discharged early the next morning, arriving outside to find Minako smiling cautiously, bundled up in her warmest coat and standing next to a taxi.  She sees Yuuri and pulls out a jacket just for him- it hangs in the space between them limply.

 

Unthinkingly, Yuuri flinches.

 

“…Hey, uh.” Minako says, her voice quiet and heavy. “You’re ok, right?”

 

Yuuri clacks his teeth together, suddenly bitter. “ _No_.” he snaps.

 

His voice is raspy with disuse. There’s venom in his words, but it’s only directed at himself; that’s how it always is, and how it probably always will be. Yuuri might be a horrible human being, but at least he has the decency to take responsibility.

 

“I’m dead-last out of the qualifying skaters.” he seethes. “I put out the worst performance of my entire career _._ I’m not ok with it, Minako.”

 

For now, he doesn’t feel bad for taking it out on her. For now, it’s much easier to pretend he’s being nasty about his loss, or the breakup with his coach, or anything else that’s more acceptable than Yuuri’s mental illnesses.

 

 But unfortunately for him- the second unfortunate thing of the day- Minako is _still_ not an idiot.

 

“For fucks sake, just take the jacket.” she hisses, startling Yuuri momentarily. She begins to wave it like a flag- “Either you decide to sort your shit out right now or I’m flying you back to Japan, take your pick.”

 

Yuuri scowls. It doesn’t deter Minako, who continues to jiggle his jacket pointedly.

 

“What’ll it be, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri growls in frustration, but he takes the jacket- snatching it from her hands.

 

“Good. Now get in the car, please.”

 

Yuuri stalks around to the other side, with no small amount of shame lurking behind him.

 

 

 

 

 Light, powdery snow begins to swirl past the taxi in white streaks. Building pass, too, in a blur which is less about speed, but more about Yuuri eventually forgetting to perceive them from the back seat. The world around them persists. It’s almost a bit… weird.

 

Except the only thing that’s unusual is how Yuuri is seeing, for the first time, how there’s more to this city than just the hotel and the rink. Those who walk the streets, brisk and purposefully, have their own lives, their own little bubbles as constrained as Yuuri’s- or maybe they’re expansive, maybe they’re travelers like Yuuri, except they travel to _see_ things. Not like him at all, then.

 

It’s unusual, because with the sight of the old roads and racks full of bikes, rivers of frozen lake and trees covered in frost, Yuuri is suddenly thinking about how many little, seemingly unimportant things he might have been missing out on. He wonders about his small-town home- how many things has he shut out there, too? The bridge near the beach, the giant hill near Hasetsu Castle, the old couple who own the souvenir store, the cherry-blossom blooms….

 

After ten minutes, Yuuri realizes the reason he’s seeing all this is because Minako is taking him somewhere unknown, when he’d expected to go straight back to the hotel.

 

Naturally, he panics about it.

 

“W-where are we going?” he asks.

 

It’s almost as if Minako-sensei was waiting for him to realize, because she chuckles on cue- a finger flitting to her cheek, she taps her jaw-bone mysteriously. _That’s karma for being a dick_.

 

“Well.” she says, grinning wolfish-ly. “I felt like going out for brunch with you. But if I’d told you that before, you would have refused- so I waited until we were inside a moving vehicle.”

 

“You… that’s coercion. That’s _kidnapping_!” Yuuri splutters incredulously.

 

Minako just snorts.

 

“Call it that if you want to.” she sings. “But its pleasant out here today. I think it’ll be good.”

 

“Like that justifies you tricking me.” Yuuri grumbles.

 

“It’s nice.” Minako repeats, ignoring him.

 

 

 

 

 Really, it only takes another five minutes before they come to Minako’s destination, and Yuuri realizes- he seems to be realizing a lot of things rather quickly, huh?- that his teacher was right. The café they pull up to is nice, as it faces towards one of Amsterdam’s many rivers.

 

There are heaters warming the air outside, but majority of the café is behind closed, glass doors. It has a façade that reminds Yuuri of a cottage from a story book, though the inside is clean and professional, with (mostly) elderly people and tourists sitting at the warm wooden tables and chairs.

 

The day is halfway gone by now, of course. Those who aren’t catching up on lunch are having the late-breakfast of their dreams. There’s one very Russian-looking man scarfing down a bitter, black coffee and a plate of savory pancakes, while a young couple off to the side- two girls- are sharing strawberries and cream from each other’s bowls.

 

Overall, the café radiates a busy, homely warmth. And Yuuri really does mean it when he says it’s _homely_.

 

Maybe it’s the calorie-filled breakfast food, or maybe it’s the amount of retirees here; either way, something about this place makes Yuuri have visions of opening the door to see his mother cooking, or his dog running in circles around the inn-goers when he should have been out in the backyard.

 

It’s then that it hits Yuuri- his longing for home, as a longing for comfort.

 

“Ah, _Sensei_?” he breathes, quietly. “Did you…“

 

“Did I what?” Minako asks. She’s half hanging out of the taxi door.

 

The driver is probably waiting for them to get out, but Yuuri doesn’t care. “You meant it when you said you’d fly me back to Japan, didn’t you.”

 

It’s not a question. Not really.

 

“Only if you’d continued your attitude.” Minako sniffs.

 

And that’s ok- Yuuri knows what she’d meant to say. “Thank you, for that.” he says, his face turned away.

 

Minako scrunches up her nose at him, sniffing again mysteriously.

 

“’S ok.” she mumbles. “I know that you hate people worrying about you, but… y’know.”

 

The taxi driver beeps his horn at them impatiently, making Yuuri jump and Minako scramble out of the car fast. As she books it towards the café in embarrassment, Yuuri does his best to get out of the taxi in his equally self-conscious state.

 

It doesn’t, however, put a damper on his gratitude.

 

He catches up to Minako in not a moment, crossing the small, brick bridge to the other side of the street. She glances down at her student briefly- barely downwards, though, since Yuuri’s height has recently shot up- and unknowingly, he lets out a little laugh at the sight.

 

“What?” Minako scoffs, though she knows. She always knows.

 

No matter how much Yuuri tries to hide his sadness, and no matter how much he thinks nobody can hear him, he can always rely on his teacher to meet him where he is. Like a home away from home. The least he can do is meet her halfway across, sometimes.

 

“Nothing’s up.” Yuuri tells her, with a small, genuine smile.

 

Minako clicks her tongue, approving.

 

“You had something on your mind before, though.” she says.

 

“I… did.” Yuuri admits, with a half-shrug. “And I’m sorry. For being a brat about it.”

 

“No need to apologize.”

 

Yuuri tampers down the urge to apologize for _that_ , too, clamping his mouth shut. Minako laughs fondly.

 

“It’s alright. I wouldn’t ever call you a brat, Yuuri.” she tells him. “You’re a strong person- stronger than you might think.”

 

Yuuri frowns outwardly, mulling it over in the crease of his brow. _Maybe_ he could be strong, if Minako-sensei thinks so? “But I let everyone down, yesterday.” he reasons. “I let _you_ down. I let the whole of _Japan_ down. My short program was-“

 

“Hey, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri abruptly stops walking.

 

Minako has lagged behind, and is standing straight and still- eye level with her student, hands clenched at her sides in frustration. A plea rests in her eyes- “I don’t care about whether or not you win.” she tells him. “I care about whether or not you _felt_ like you’ve won. Do you understand?”

 

Yuuri swallows. He says nothing, and Minako continues.

 

“I’m not your skating coach,” she says, emphatic. “I’m your _sensei_. I want to make sure that you’re ok more than anything. I want you to be _happy_. So--”

 

She takes a deep breath, in tandem with Yuuri’s shuddering heartbeat.

 

“How do you feel, Yuuri Katsuki?”

 

So he tells her. He tells her as much as he can.

 

And it’s not that great a feeling- laying bare these things. But it gets a little easier the longer they talk, and in the end, Yuuri feels better for it.

 

That’s all he could ask for, really.

 

For things to start getting better, slowly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--Two Days until the Free Program--

It’d grown far too late for anything by the time they got back from the park, which was a shame, because Yuuri had wanted to book the rink for practice.

 

Even when Minako had expressed her horror at the idea ( _you passed out two days ago, and now you want to skate?!),_ Yuuri had shuffled his feet quietly, demanding that he be allowed to train on the ice.

 

His teacher had sighed.  “If you can get your _ass_ out of bed tomorrow, I’ll walk you down.” she’d huffed. “You’re not gonna push yourself too hard, though, are you?”

 

Yuuri had nodded feverishly, adamant in his promise.

 

It had felt good to be training with Minako today, even if he had to do it in public. Unfortunately, the hotel’s gym was too small to function as a studio- outside in the cold, a few people had thought he was a busker, and had tried to drop him coins. Minako cheerfully told them to save their money for ‘Skater Katsuki’ merch instead. Yuuri had shuddered at the thought; if there’s one thing he’s uncomfortable with, it’s the fact that there are people out there who thought to put his face on a _calendar_.

 

Coming back from the cold, Yuuri notices how it’d seeped into his joints. It’s kind of nice, compared to the lethargic warmth of being in bed all the time. In all, serious honesty, he’d would be willing to sacrifice his toes if it meant he’d get the swell of satisfaction from a hard day’s training every time.

 

Granted, this doesn’t mean that he’s done practicing; his Free Skate choreography is still a bit choppy in parts, mostly where Yuuri’s lost the emotional core of _Tsukiru_. He doesn’t quite feel the same way about it as he did just days ago, and he’s struggling to reconnect. Also, he hasn’t practiced any of his jumps, nor has he performed his choreography on ice since last week, in his fit of melancholy.

 

 Still, it’s progress. Feeling like he’s accomplished something… it isn’t a new experience for Yuuri, but he welcomes it back with a grin.

 

There’s a pleasant ache in his feet and a tiredness draped over him, though it’s light enough that he can shrug it off with his coat, once they’re finally back at the hotel. Minako seems to notice how Yuuri’s mood has improved-  “You look pleased.” she says, to which Yuuri shrugs.

 

“I feel better, I think.” he says positively.

 

Not perfect, but _better_. He has flashbacks to those lonely nights not long ago, where he’d lie awake racked by nightmares, tossing and turning, and compares them to how he felt last night. How he’s felt today. A part of him smiles contentedly.

 

“I’m feeling better.” he confirms.

 

“Good.” Minako nods. A part of Yuuri’s brain finishes her sentence for her-  _now keep going!-_ and it gives him pause.

 

…He’ll examine it later.

 

For now, he takes a shower, and borrows some of Minako’s money to buy them both dinner. He even manages to grab it himself! A small victory, going alone, but it’s one he can be proud of.

 Even though he feels like he shouldn’t be congratulating himself- like there’s more he should be doing- Yuuri takes the time to reassure himself that for now, this is enough.

 

He _should_ be taking things in small steps, lest he drive himself off the edge again. He must continue to be kind to himself, and eventually he will be better.

 

 _(go further than ‘better’, and be great_, a voice demands. _)_

 

Yuuri frowns.

 

The room is dark, his phone is turned off, and he’s lying in bed. Minako is fast asleep- he could have sworn the sound wasn’t from his own head, but it couldn’t have been her. So who--

 

_‘Yuuri!’_

Yuuri jumps five-foot in the air, startled by ghostly yell. When he rubs his eyes, he sees the image of his torment- the man who’s haunted his dreams- Viktor Nikiforov, glowing ethereal and unreal, his long hair swirling like a mermaid’s despite no wind.

 

“V-Viktor?” Yuuri whispers. “What are you-“

 

 _‘You’re asleep.’_ Viktor scoffs. _‘You’re a very vivid dreamer.’_

“I… thank you?”

 

 _‘You’re also an idiot for not listening to m_ e’ he says, seriously _. ‘All this time I’ve been trying to tell you, and only now are you realizing.’_

“Realizing what?”

 

Viktor sighs- his eyes fall shut, long and heavy. As a low humming begins, Viktor says, cryptically, _‘Just go answer Phichit.’_

 

Yuuri wakes up with a start.

 

The room around him looks exactly the same as it did when he’d fallen asleep. The night is dark, save for the city lights dim outside the hotel curtains, Minako-sensei is still fast asleep, but as for his phone—

 

Well, it madly lights up as it buzzes, receiving another incoming text from Phichit.

 

**PHICHIT**

>YUURI WHAT THE FUCK

>IF YOU’RE STILL IN A COMA I’M PERSONALLY GOING TO FLY TO AMSTERDAM JUST OT YELL AT U

 

 

Ah. Yuuri remembers now how he’d forgotten to message him, once he’d got out of the hospital. He was too busy talking to Minako that day, and after that, too focused on his training. He feels a pang of guilt, and sits up in bed to text him back:

 

 

**YUURI**

>I’m so, SO sorry Phichit. I’m fine.

>How are you??

 

 

…And then, there’s an uncomfortable, virtual silence where the ‘typing’ icon begins to constantly appear and disappear, before Yuuri is greeted by an almost _paragraph_ worth of concerned messages from Phichit.

 

 

**PHICHIT**

>that DOESN’T MATTER WHEN YOU’RE THE ONE WHO FUCKING BOMBED THEIR SP

> were you actually injured or was it just fatigue like they said???

>I wish you would have told me what was going on, but I get it. You looked awful after that skate. Everyone was worried that something bad happened to you, Yuuri ;;;__;;;

>…you still there?

 

Yuuri’s mouth grows drier the more he reads.

 

By ‘everyone’ he assumes Phichit means himself, plus a few of Yuuri’s online fans. He hasn‘t checked social media since he’d asked to be locked out, but that’s probably a good thing, considering the nature of sports journalism.

 

Still. Phichit doesn’t deserve Yuuri’s silence.

 

 

**YUURI**

>I really am sorry.

>I wasn’t injured. Just stressed out and sad

>I don’t know if you can tell, but I haven’t been ‘ok’ for a little while? I’m sorry if I ever came across bad or hurt you because I promise it was an accident

>I’ve been awful to a lot of people lately

>I’m really, really sorry Phichit

 

 

**PHICHIT**

>….oh, yuuri

 

Yuuri frowns at that last message.

 

He doesn’t quite know how to interpret it, and his fingers begin to shake over the keyboard as he backspaces more words and sentences, suddenly scared that he isn’t coming across as he means, or that he’s making things _worse_ , god forbid.

 

He worries, until a facetime notification appears.

 

Yuuri takes once last glance at Minako’s bed, and another fleeting glance at the hotel door before he makes his choice. He shuffles out of bed without so much as rustling sheets, exiting the room quietly. He shuts the door- leans against the wall, then takes a steadying breath before he thrusts his phone up to his ear.

 

“ _Phichit_.” Yuuri whispers, suddenly desperate to be heard.

 

“Yuuri, _baby_ , I’m here.” Phichit reassures him.

 

He could hear the apology in Yuuri’s texts, then. What’s more, he could hear the regret. Phichit’s voice comes all at once through one ear, as Yuuri’s back slowly, heavily, slides down the corridor wall.

 

“I’m sorry.” he repeats, ad nauseum. “Please don’t be mad because of me.”

 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’m not mad at all.” Phichit soothes. “Besides, I didn’t really… you had things bad for a while there, didn’t you?”

 

“I did, yeah.” Yuuri croaks, squeezing his eyes shut. “It wasn’t that… I’m just terrible at- Phichit, I’m so _anxious_ all the time now--”

 

“Shh, sh, it’s ok. Say whatever you need.” Phichit says. “I’m here”.

 

Yuuri’s knees are up to his chest, his ribs shaking, and they dip in and out with every breath he takes. He consciously unclenches his hand in front of him- Yuuri doesn’t really say anything, despite Phichit’s offer, but he _does_ keep breathing. He can hear Phichit doing so on the other end as he unconsciously syncs up with the timing of his beat.

 

Though he’s confidant he’s getting better, now, it still _hurts_.

 

“I’m an awful friend, aren’t I?” Yuuri asks, after a while. Instead of judging him, Phichit just hums.

 

“Why do you think that?” he says.

 

“Because you were worried, and I _ignored_ you.” Yuuri sniffs. “I always- I blow people off like that all the time. Even my teacher. Even Christophe.”

 

“Wait… Christophe?” Phichit says. “As in, Christophe Giacometti?!”

 

Ah, shit. Yuuri never did tell Phichit about Chris.

 

“The Senior Grand Prix Bronze-“

 

“Yes, _that_ one.” Yuuri cuts him off. “I don’t know _why_ he would ever want to talk to me, but…”

 

Phichit splutters on the other end, seemingly indignant. “Yuuri Katsuki!” he cries. “You were his _rival_ in juniors!”

 

“I’d hardly call us ‘rivals’.” Yuuri mutters.

 

That would imply they were somewhat equals, which they certainly were not. There’s a reason Chris ascended to Seniors and left Yuuri behind. Phichit either doesn’t know that or doesn’t care, because he proclaims- “Well, either Google _completely_ wrong about him, or you’re even more stubborn that I thought. Look up your names.”

 

Yuuri blinks twice.

 

Before Phichit can say anything else, he minimizes facetime, closing off a coin-toss app to open Safari. He quickly thumbs in his name and Chris’s, and when the page loads, he finds the second result to be an interview Chris did _about_ Yuuri, dated to roughly a year and a half ago.

 

He’d never even _heard_ of this until now.

 

He pulls facetime back up as he reads aloud- “I consider Yuuri Katsuki to be one of my oldest friends in the sport, and my first ever rival. I truly believe that someday he could surpass the likes of… of Viktor Nikiforov?!”

 

Yuuri’s voice tilts up the further he reads, because none of that can… none of that can be true, right? Surpassing Viktor is completely impossible, but even more so is the idea that all this time, Chris has thought they were _equals_.

 

“See?” Phichit attests, through Yuuri’s shock. “I can support him more now that I know he has good taste. I didn’t realize he was a fan of yours!”

 

A fan. A fan of Yuuri’s.

 

It does say that in the interview, just a little further down. He thinks he’s going to faint. “N-neither did I.” he stammers. “This is unbelievable.”

 

_Except, is it really?_

 

The silver voice in his head rings.

 

“It’s not _that_ unbelievable if you’ve checked twitter lately.” Phichit hums, snapping Yuuri back to reality. “If you don’t want to see it for yourself, I’ve got something cool to show you.”

 

Oh no. “What did Twitter do?” Yuuri says with hesitance, already fearful.

 

“ _Well_.” Phichit winks. “Some asshole journalist tried to trash you after your SP the other day.”

 

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Yuuri already knows how this goes. “They’re attacking him, then.” he says, his tone deadpan and his mouth bone-dry.

 

Luckily, his assumption was very wrong. “Nope! Completely the opposite.” Phichit cheers. “You have a tribute hashtag trending, instead. I’ll send you some stuff!”

 

A… tribute hashtag. For Yuuri. “W-what’s it called?”

 

“The tag? #CourageLikeKatsuki, I think. The original post has at _least_ 200k retweets.”

 

“Who posted it?”

 

Phichit clicks his tongue in thought.

 

“…I’m not sure.” he says, finally. “Maybe you should just see it for yourself.”

 

A few moments later, there’s a tweet from a newly made, almost-blank Russian twitter account in Yuuri’s inbox.

 

Attached to it is a video, film by someone standing far away from a rink. In the centre of the ice is Yuuri. Though he’s quite far away, he can still tell by his dead, slumped shoulders that it’s him.

 

He also remembers very clearly exactly when and where this was taken.

 

“Are you going to watch it?” Phichit asks. “I really think you should, considering-“

 

“It’s my Free skate.” Yuuri says, blankly. “I know it better than anybody.”

 

He hits ‘play’, and watches as his other-self goes into motion.

 

 _‘Totally in his own world, huh?’_ a voice in the video says. They sound girlish and childlike, and they’re also speaking Russian. Yuuri knows exactly who it could be.

 

Whoever is behind the camera replies- _‘He’s beautiful.’_

 

He also says something else, but Yuuri doesn’t know enough Russian to parse it.

 

Far away, other-Yuuri glides across the ice, without a single clue that he’s being filmed. The cameraman zooms closer, even, as Yuuri stretches into a Spread Eagle. He gears up for a single jump, launches into the air lopsidedly, and then he falls. Over-rotated.

 

He gets back up, and continues.

 

The man behind the camera tuts.

 

…He says something, now, that sounds like criticism, but the words he uses are too complex for Yuuri to understand. He pauses the video, a frown creasing his face.

 

“What do the replies look like?” he asks Phichit.

 

Phichit, who’s been silent the entire time, springs to life. “On twitter? It’s mostly fans screaming about how your Free Skate has developed.” he babbles. “A couple of people are being gross about how the guy filming gave you shit for your technical composition.”

 

“Oh. That makes sense.” Yuuri says.

 

Phichit makes a noise of indignance- probably the verbal equivalent of blinking several times

 

“What else does he say about my program?” Yuuri asks, ignoring him.

 

Phichit clacks his teeth together. He’s reluctant, but eventually, he says, “The guy thought you could do better, is all. Apparently he said, ‘this _could_ be great’. ”

 

A shiver runs up Yuuri’s arm.

 

“ _Could_ be great.” he repeats, whispering.

 

He returns to the video, skimming all the way until the very end. His biggest and last jump is at the climax of the program. The camera still zoomed in, Yuuri watches as he over-rotates his tripe toe loop. There’s the loud, ugly sound of his blades crashing into the ice as he stumbles on the landing.

 

Except this time, he doesn’t fall.

 

The camera has gone shaky, and so has the cameraman’s voice as he whispers words that Yuuri vaguely picks out. Thanks to his years of hearing Russian commentary, he knows that the man says he ‘almost had it’- that he says something under his breath about ‘having potential’.

 

Yuuri doesn’t need to know the rest to see what he means.

 

He already knows.

 

And maybe it should feel like a major epiphany- maybe the heavens should’ve burst forth at his ultimate acceptance, but they don’t.

 

Instead, with an afterimage of himself playing in his head, Yuuri calmly thanks Phichit for calling him, and hangs up.

 

It’s 3am in the morning, but he has somewhere to be.

 

 

 

 He ducks back inside the hotel briefly, pulling on a jacket and retrieving his rink-pass and skating bag. A pen and paper comes with him, too. Finally, he sends a final text to Phichit.

 

**YUURI**

>I’m going to the rink. Do not tell anybody.

 

He knows, now, what he ultimately needs to do.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**@vnk014358**

Filmed in closed practised. Katsuki may still be junior, but he is growing quickly _._ Хорошая работа! # **CourageLikeKatsuki**

_190k rts                       230k likes_

* * *

 

 

 

\--- One day until the Free Program ---

Minako wakes up at 9am exactly- late, by her standards- and stumbles towards the kitchenette to make a coffee. She’d made Yuuri a promise that she’d walk him to the rink if he could get his ass out of bed.

 

It seems that she’s greatly underestimated her student.

 

“Good morning, Minako-sensei.” Yuuri sings. He’s leaning on the counter, a mug of black coffee in his hand. “I got my butt out of bed, just like you asked!”

 

(Of course, she has no clue that he’s actually been up all night.)

 

“…Good morning, Yuuri.” Minako replies cautiously. She approaches him at the counter. “I believe the word I used was ‘ass’.”

 

Yuuri smiles and shrugs, sipping at his coffee.

 

“Say, Sensei.” he begins airily, as he puts his mug down. “Do you think I’ll be able to get the quad toe-loop down by this afternoon?”

 

The way he says it like it’s _not_ the one thing he’s been struggling with all year is… mildly concerning. Minako frowns at him.

 

“What are you planning, Yuuri?” she asks.

 

No reply. Yuuri takes another, enigmatic sip of his coffee.

 

Minako isn’t a huge fan of vagueness, however, _especially_ when it comes to her student. Almost wide-awake now, she casually slams a hand down on the little dining table.

 

“I’m going to be honest with you, Yuuri.“ she says.

 

Yuuri tilts his head like a puppy.

 

“I might have said that I support you,”- Minako’s teeth are gritted- “but that _doesn’t_ stop me from being absolutely fucking terrified of you right now. _Please_ tell me you haven’t changed the composition of your program or anything.”

 

Thoughtfully, Yuuri looks up at her with his big, brown eyes. He taps a finger to the side of his mug. “Alright.” he says, carefully. “I won’t tell you, then.”

 

“… _Yuuri_.” Minako hisses.

 

Yuuri just smiles.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEARLY AT THE END, I SWEAR.


End file.
